


Running in the Dark

by Notesfromaclassroom



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Spoilers, Star Trek Into Darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notesfromaclassroom/pseuds/Notesfromaclassroom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOILER ALERT!  This fic deals with a situation from the first nine minutes of "Star Trek Into Darkness," which doesn't appear in theaters until May 2013.  If you want to go innocent and unaware to the movie then, this fic isn't for you!</p><p>For everyone else:  Six months into his first command, James Kirk discovers that sending his crew into danger is the hardest thing he's ever had to do.  It doesn't help that Spock seems bent on self-destruction.  The story of the Nibiru mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Playing With Fire

**Chapter One:  Playing With Fire**

**Disclaimer:  No profit being made here.  Move along.**

**SPOILER ALERT!!   This fanfic deals with the storyline introduced in the first nine minutes of “Star Trek Into Darkness.”  If you want to go to the theater without any foreknowledge, read no further!  Or better yet, head to my profile and choose an Academy fic to keep your Star Trek feels going until May.**

X  X

Even after six months, Nyota Uhura is never bored on the bridge of the _Enterprise_.  Like everyone else in Starfleet, she knows too well how rare this opportunity is to serve on one of the remaining ships of the line—though she doesn’t question her rightful place here.  She’s more than earned it. 

That the work in communications is always interesting—in fact, sometimes thrilling—is a bonus.  She would be happy to serve even if the work were incredibly dull, if like her predecessors in the past she were resigned to spending most of her time as little more than a switchboard operator, answering hails and relaying messages for the captain.

Thankfully that’s not how James Kirk sees her role.  If anything, he gives her some tasks that probably should be assigned to Spock and his science staff.  It’s a measure of his trust in her—and Spock’s silence on the matter is a measure of his own trust in them both.  Nyota knows better than anyone that Spock wouldn’t hesitate to point out the irregularity in the assignments otherwise.

Like this one—cobbling together a workable translation of the native Nibiruan language from snippets of recordings.

On the viewscreen, Nibiru hangs in space like a dull red marble, a class M planet but barely.  For the past three days the Enterprise has stayed at a distance, monitoring the pre-industrial sentient lifeforms and measuring the steady uptick in seismic activity.   Two years ago the _Farragut_ left a long range buoy in orbit to monitor the planet’s progress—and to alert Starfleet if it became geologically unstable.

That routine sweep through this quadrant had been the _Farragut’s_ last mission before being recalled to Space Dock for a minor computer upgrade—which is why the ship was on hand for the Battle of Vulcan—

Nyota takes a breath and struggles to put a damper on where that train of thought leads her…Gaila’s excitement about their assignment to the _Farragut_ , Nyota’s fury about the same thing—

The Nibiruan language is a welcome distraction.  Thorny, dense, almost painful to hear—but Nyota is slowly untangling the meaning of the fricatives, parsing out the syntax.  With the flick of her thumb, she listens again to a series of clicks and hisses and watches the hazy video of a native speaker, his mouth moving out of sync to the words.  With another flick of her hand, she adjusts the speed of transmission so that they match.

 _That’s better._   Like so many species found throughout the galaxy, the Nibiruans are bipedal and symmetrical, with sense organs located at the top of their body.  In the video they appear to have eye-like light receptors, though from the image Nyota can’t tell if they also have ear-like sound receptors.  She thinks not. 

They have to pick up sound waves somehow.  _Through their limbs?_   That’s the kind of question she leaves for Spock to tackle.  Her immediate concern is making sense of what they are saying.  

In the image the Nibiruan gestures toward the towering volcano that rises up behind some sort of artificial structure built at the base, a communal dwelling or a temple—a place with a great deal of traffic. The Nibiruan is taller and louder than the others in the image, though Nyota knows that doesn’t automatically mean he—if he _is_ a he, if Nibiruans even have gender—is a leader of any kind.  He might just be the most talkative.

Whoever he is, he’s clearly concerned about the growing cloud of volcanic ash rising in the sky.

A relay flashes on Nyota’s station.  A message from Sulu, flying a shuttle without running lights over the Nibiruan structure during the current window of darkness.

“Transmitting data load now,” he says, and she feels rather than sees Spock at his station turning his face toward her.

“Got it,” she says, looking up.  To her surprise, an unmistakable flicker of emotion crosses Spock’s features—so brief that if she hadn’t noticed it before she would have doubted herself.

It’s the same expression she sees sometimes when he doesn’t know he’s being observed—in the mornings when she opens her eyes and he’s stretched out beside her, long awake or never asleep, unblinking, or when they sit companionably in her quarters or his, preoccupied with work or reading, his eyes hooded and unfocused on the PADD in his hand.

She’s stopped asking him about it, stopped irritating him with her repeated suggestions that if he can’t talk to her about how his grief is consuming him from within, then maybe he should seek someone else to talk to—his father, or a Vulcan healer, perhaps?

 _You need not be concerned,_ he’s told her more than once, but she hears past the harshness of his words to their meaning— _Let me grieve in my own way._   And so she tries to.

Still, she worries.  The incident on Makus III, the irresponsible way he subjected himself to a risky procedure when he became infected with the parasites on Deneva—

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” she had asked, not hiding her anger. 

But he had brushed off her concern.

Two months ago she had confided in Dr. McCoy.

“Naturally I don’t know him as well as you do,” McCoy had said, his tone as dry and salty as when he had tried to bluff her during an Academy poker game, “but my guess is that all the Vulcan survivors are pretty messed up right now.  Might always be.  Add to his normal grief his guilt about his mother—“

McCoy had let his words drift off and Nyota nodded.  Figuring out what Spock was feeling wasn’t hard.  Knowing what he needed—what to do for him—was the challenge.

She sends a copy of Sulu’s data to the science station and opens her own copy.  This time the image is of a group of Nibiruans, most of them crouched or kneeling on the ground around an outdoor bonfire.  One saffron-robed native—the same one she had seen in the other video?—holds a thin rectangular object in his hand.  With his other hand he gestures to the nearby volcano that in the dark is emitting visible sparks and embers.  Over and over he makes the same guttural sound, and suddenly the tumblers fall in place in Nyota’s mind.

“Captain,” she says, and Jim Kirk swivels in his chair and waits for her to continue.   “As far as I can tell, the natives are discussing what to do about the increased seismic activity. Apparently they believe they can communicate with the volcano, appease it somehow.”

She toggles a switch and Sulu’s recording replaces the orbital view on the viewscreen. 

“See that thing that tall native is holding?  That thing that looks like a piece of parchment?”

“Are those markings on it?”

Spock’s hand flutters over a control and the image is magnified.

“They appear to be symbolic representations of the volcano,” he says. 

He’s right.  Now that she can see them in more detail, Nyota can make out their meaning.  Slanted lines for the volcano itself, and smaller dots around it—the Nibiruans?  That would be logical.

She glances up at Spock but his expression is unreadable.

“I believe it is a sacred document of some sort,” she ventures.  “See how the others are showing a form of deference to it?”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” the captain says.  “We’ve been looking for a way to get the natives away from the volcano.  That could be our key.”

Slapping the arm of his chair, the captain says, “Doctor, meet me and Mr. Spock in the conference room in twenty minutes.”

From the intercom comes McCoy’s voice.

“You planning something?”

“You’ve been complaining that you need some R&R,” the captain says. “I’ve found a warm place right up your alley.”

X  X  X

“When this is over,” McCoy says, his voice muffled by the gray scarf covering his face, “you and I are going to have a long talk about the meaning of ‘right up your alley.’”

“Stop complaining,” Kirk says, waving one hand around him to the beach where Sulu dropped them off from the shuttle moments earlier.  “It’s a beach.  It’s warm.  What more could you want?”

“Very funny,” McCoy grouses.  Even though Kirk is focused on the immediate task at hand, one part of his attention is aware that in the dim morning light the planet is striking, even beautiful in a stark sort of way.  Maybe when this is all over and the seismic activity has been neutralized, the volcano no longer a threat, he can take time to actually stroll on this beach.

Or maybe not.  He can imagine that Spock would object, would cite the risk of exposure if the natives should see them.

“The Prime Directive is clear,” Spock had said on the shuttle ride here.  “The indigenous lifeforms must not see you.  If you interfere with their normal development—“

“I know, I know.”  Kirk cut him off and added, “But in this travel garb we are almost invisible.”

Spock lifted one eyebrow—a sign of what Kirk had already come to recognize as Vulcan skepticism—and Kirk hurried on. 

“Besides,” he said, “we aren’t planning to stay long.”

“Just long enough to get ourselves killed,” McCoy chimed in.

“Long enough to get them out of the kill zone,” Kirk amended.  “We make sure they see us take the parchment and then we get out of there.”

“With them on our tail!”

“That’s the idea, Bones.  Once they are away from the volcano, Spock can get the ice cube inside without them spotting the shuttle.”

Even as he said it Kirk knew it was crazy, was riskier than anything he’d put the crew through before.

That part about the ice cube, for instance.  On the surface it sounded fairly easy—send an ion beam emitter into the core of the volcano, essentially sealing the underground rift that is letting superheated magma churn up to the surface.  Two days ago Spock had designed the device and Scotty had engineered it—with plenty of requisite grumbling. 

“Getting it positioned right is goin’ to be a tricky business,” Scotty had said, adjusting the handheld remote while Spock calibrated the beam generator.  The captain, Sulu, and McCoy stood around the workbench in the engineering lab watching the various pieces slowly being assembled into a device that would be the size of a small suitcase.  “All that magnetic fluctuation inside the volcano is playing havoc with the sensors, so beaming it in is out of the question—a position lock would be impossible.”

“We could lower it with the shuttle cable,” Sulu said, but Scotty made a dismissive sound.

“Aye, but then you have the same problem as before.  We don’t know precisely where the bottom of the volcano is so we won’t know when we reach it.”

“Why can’t you just set the timer and drop it in?”

“Because, laddie, if it lands in a pool of molten lava, it’s all over.”

While his officers debated, Kirk ran through the possibilities.  Spock was right, of course, that staying hidden was essential if they weren’t going to violate the Prime Directive.   Already they’d had two scares when launching shuttles for reconnaissance—and Scotty had complained nonstop since they entered low orbit that the volcanic ash was mucking up the intake valves and sensors.

“You’re sure you can’t get a clear enough reading to beam it in?” Kirk asked, and Scotty shook his head sadly.

“The sensors are completely dodgy,” Scotty said. “We’ll have to head straight back to Space Dock for a massive wash as soon as we finish up here.”

Scotty’s face was so sorrowful that Kirk had to bite back an impulse to laugh.

And then a light went on in his head.

“Mr. Scott,” Kirk said, “you are a genius.  But why wait?”

“Sir?” 

“Kill two birds with one stone,” the captain said.  “If we hide the _Enterprise_ in the ocean—“

“You canna be serious!”

“Jim, are you out of your mind?”

“Captain, while theoretically the _Enterprise_ would suffer no deleterious effects from the Nabiruan ocean, in practice such a maneuver has never been tried.”

Kirk looked around at four incredulous faces.  _Well, three_.  Scotty, Sulu, and McCoy looked shocked.  Spock’s expression was unreadable.

“Here’s how I see it,” Kirk said, dialing back his enthusiasm in an effort to sound reasonable, “hiding in the ocean solves two problems—the probability that we might become visible and the problem with the volcanic ash gumming up the works.”

Scotty lifted his hand and opened his mouth, presumably to protest, and Kirk went on.  “As for getting the ice cube inside the volcano, we’ll use the shuttle cable to lower me into position.  I’ll carry the ice cube and Sulu can raise me back up as soon as I set it to detonate.”

“And all that time the natives are going to be watching the show,” McCoy said, crossing his arms.  “You can’t hover a shuttle over the top of the volcano without someone noticing.”

“Yeah, well, I thought about that, too,” Kirk says.  “If we can lure the natives away from the volcano, we can slip into place unseen.”

McCoy uncrossed his arms and threw his hands up.

“And just how to you plan to do that?”

“I’ll think of something,” Kirk had said, but not until later—when Sulu sent back the pictures of the Nibiruan holding the parchment—had he known what to use as bait.

He would rather have been the one being lowered into the volcano, but Spock had convinced him otherwise.

“We can add heat shielding to a pressurized exo-suit,” Spock told him, “but it will weigh over 31 kilos.  With my Vulcan physiology, I am better suited for the task.”

“Literally,” Kirk said, but Spock continued to look at him blankly.  “A joke, Spock.  You said you were _suited_ , and we were talking about the exo- _suit_ —“

That had been two days ago, and now he and Bones are here, making their way up the beach to the thick forest of red trees, their footfalls hampered by the sand and the dragging hems of their travel robes.

“Uhura, you there?”

“I hear you, Captain.”

“What’s that phrase again?”

“Maku or’ig,” she says through the comm link in his ear. 

“Maku or’ig,” he repeats.  “And you’re sure it’s a friendly greeting?”

“That or an invitation to hand-to-hand combat,” she purrs, and he grins, knowing he is being chaffed.

“Either way it ought to be exciting,” he says, turning around long enough to make sure McCoy is following him.

But McCoy is standing stock still, his hand stretched out toward the trees.

“Jim!”

Behind him, Kirk hears a sound like squealing gears and the smell of sulfur and brimstone washes over him.  From the corner of his eye he sees it—a creature eight feet long, sharp-toothed and bloated and pale, like some alien nightmare of a boar.

Before he can make a move, Kirk watches as the huge beast opens its mouth and charges.

**A/N:  We’re off!  Can’t wait until May to get some more “Into Darkness”?  That’s where fanfiction can help!  I have a few more chapters planned in this little tale about the mission on Nibiru—let me know how you liked this first one.**

**I’m an old time Star Trek fan, and when “Star Trek 2009” rebooted the franchise, I discovered the pleasure of reading and writing fanfiction.  For the past three years I’ve dabbled in this fandom writing Academy fics and some stories that carried the crew forward after the Battle of Vulcan.  Take a look at my profile for the complete list of my stories if you are in the mood for more Star Trek narratives.  Two of the longest—“What We Think We Know” and “People Will Say”—cover much of Spock and Uhura’s time at the Academy.  Several others such as “Once and Future,” “The Prodigal Son,” and “The Survivors” are set after the destruction of Vulcan.**


	2. Raiders

**Chapter Two: Raiders**

**Disclaimer: Playing with other people's toys here. Just for fun.**

**Spoiler alert! This story is set during the Nibiruan mission which occurs in the first nine minutes of "Star Trek into Darkness," scheduled for release in May 2013. Read no further if ignorance is bliss to you. Otherwise, jump right in and enjoy!  
**

Of all the qualities Jim Kirk prides himself on, his ability to react quickly is the one he's found most useful through the years. His stepfather Frank's hand raised in anger sent young Jim skittering out of his reach. A police officer ordering him to pull over in Frank's stolen Corvette sent him driving over a quarry edge and leaping to safety—barely.

Or later at the Academy, leading his parrises squares team to victory two years in a row, his unorthodox maneuvers garnering both praise and scorn depending on who was asked.

In his social life, learning to parry both physically and mentally, juggling several relationships at the same time. Once—memorably—taking two different women to the same Academy dance on the same night—which in retrospect turned out to be more than even he could chew.

So which skill fails him now—as the Nibiruan hog monster barrels down on him?

Kirk has time to register its size—at least eight feet long—and the overwhelming smell—putrid and smoky—but little else before he feels it push him over into the sand. With a loud _oomph_ he rolls to the right, mentally checking himself for tears or bites. Other than having the wind knocked out of him, he's okay—and he turns his attention to McCoy who is further down the beach.

He's prepared to see something dire—teeth and limbs and blood and a trampled friend—but what he sees is something so astonishing that for a moment Kirk is stunned into silence.

The hog monster is completely cowed. There's no other word for it—the way it crouches in the sand, its muzzle raised submissively as McCoy tentatively strokes its head.

"Bones?"

"Don't move, Jim."

"Don't worry."

"Here, Bessie," McCoy says, his voice sliding effortlessly into what Jim calls his _molasses drawl._ "Good girl. Stay. You don't want to hurt Papa."

_Papa?_ If the situation weren't so serious, Kirk would have laughed.

"Uh, Jim," McCoy says, breaking eye contact with the hog monster long enough to motion to him, "are you okay?"

"Yeah," he says, "just bruised."

"Come over here, slowly," McCoy says, and Kirk takes a step forward. Immediately the hog monster lets out a snort and turns its head toward him. Kirk pauses and raises his hands like someone in surrender. "Easy, easy," McCoy says, though Kirk isn't sure if he's talking to the hog monster or to him.

"Captain?"

Uhura's voice in his ear. Carefully sliding his hand into the pocket of his gray robe, he pulls out his communicator and flips it open. From the corner of his eye he watches as McCoy renews his efforts at calming the hog monster by brushing his fingers over its snout.

"We're okay," Kirk says, "though we are having an unexpected encounter with the local wildlife."

"Sir?"

"A big…thing. A Nibiruan cow, or something. It's not real crazy about me, but it seems to like the doctor just fine."

The speaker buzzes and Spock's voice breaks in.

"During our reconnaissance flyovers we observed large domesticated animals being used by the indigenous population for transportation. They seem quite docile, Captain."

"Uh huh," Kirk says, eyeing the hog monster warily. "You might not think so if you were looking down the business end of one of these _domesticated_ animals."

"Captain," Spock continues, apparently ignoring—or not recognizing—Kirk's sarcasm, "the seismic disturbance is increasing. I suggest you and the doctor proceed at once to the kill zone."

"We're trying, Mr. Spock!"

He swivels around to the dense red forest that starts at the headlands of the beach and stretches all the way to the base of the distant volcano—their destination, two kilometers away. The ground gives a sudden rumble and Kirk throws out his arms to steady his balance.

"Hurry up, Jim!"

This from McCoy. Kirk turns around and for the second time that morning, his mouth drops open.

There's the doctor, perched on the back of the hog monster like a cowboy. With one hand McCoy grips the bristles that run down the dorsal area of the hog monster. Extending his other hand, he says, "Here. Hop on up."

Taking a tentative step closer, Kirk grabs McCoy's hand and levers himself up behind him, throwing one leg over the hog monster. It shifts and snorts and Kirk almost slides back off.

"Whoa, Bessie," McCoy says in the same soothing drawl. "It's jus' the captain."

This time Kirk's reaction time serves him well. He reaches out and grips a tuft of hairy hog monster fur as McCoy gives it a nudge with his heel and they take off on a bumpy jog to the trees.

The ride is quick but unpleasant—leaves slapping Kirk in the face, his butt rocketing up and down as the hog monster settles into a loping stride. McCoy's voice is alternately cajoling and commanding, and the hog monster swerves and changes course to the slap of McCoy's hand on its haunch.

Kirk is both impressed and jealous.

"We can see the temple now," Kirk says into his communicator as the hog monster halts. McCoy slips down first and Kirk follows. Without looking back, the hog monster shuffles slowly into the underbrush, presumably rooting for something to eat. "Don't see anyone outside, though."

"Sensors show 36 individuals inside the structure," Sulu says through the comm link in Kirk's ear. "Although that number may not be accurate. The ash in the atmosphere is definitely making it harder to read the surface."

Holding his hand over his eyes like a visor, Kirk scans the sky over the volcano. It is black and thick and roiling, enough to keep the shuttle safely hidden in daylight.

Still, even an experienced pilot like Sulu would find flying under such adverse conditions a challenge. That idea makes Kirk pick up his pace toward their target.

When he was twelve years old, Kirk and his mother and brother took a trip to see the pyramids of central Mexico. Terraced and steep, they were an exhilarating climb—at least for him and George. His mother had stayed below loudly wringing her hands until they clambered back down.

The Nibiruan structure someone—Sulu perhaps—has dubbed the _temple_ looks like a smaller version of one of those terraced pyramids. A dark aperture on one wall appears to be an opening to the inside.

Darting from one stand of trees to another, Kirk and McCoy make their way closer. Twice they have to stop as the ground shudders, the volcano belching out more smoke while ash and embers rain down around them.

_No wonder everyone is inside,_ Kirk thinks, brushing a few glowing bits of ash from the sleeve of his long gray robe.

Patting his side, he feels the heft of his phaser hidden under his cloak.

"Ready?" he says, and McCoy answers with a grunt.

They hurry across a stone walkway to the dark opening in the temple. In the distance Kirk hears an unusual hum, like a swarm of bees. The sound is too irregular to be mechanical. Organic, then. The inhabitants, most likely, making some sort of vocalizations. Uhura might be able to parse enough of the language to make sense of what they are saying. Flipping open his communicator, he whispers, "Uhura?"

But the hiss of static greets him. Either the magnetic distortion from the volcano or something about this structure itself is blocking the comm signal. With a repressed huff, Kirk snaps the communicator shut and slips it back into his pocket. Waving his hand, he motions McCoy to follow him as he starts down a corridor toward the buzzing noise.

The walls of the corridor are made from crudely hewn stone block, some almost black and others light gray with streaks of metal running through them. _Basalt?_ Spock would know. Every six or seven meters torches of bundled sticks—deep red like the trees outside—are set into carved niches, lighting their way.

As the buzzing grows louder Kirk slows down and finally stops where the corridor branches off into two directions.

To the left, a short hall opens up into an open space. The corridor leading to the right is completely dark. Turning so he can catch McCoy's eye, Kirk nods and they head to the noise.

A group of Nibiruans are sitting and kneeling in the center of the circular room around a small open fire. Like the inhabitants Kirk has seen earlier, these people are pale white, almost glowing in the dim firelight, though whether their skin color is natural or an artifact of design is impossible to know. Likewise with the dark striations that mark their faces.

Most are wearing variations of the same saffron-colored clothing—some little more than loincloths and others full-length tunics. Here and there Kirk spots what are obviously children and even babies in arms.

On one side of the room are several wall hangings like the ones the tall Nibiruan had been holding up the night before in the compound outside. About a meter long and half as narrow, the hangings are decorated with pictograms or ideographs which Uhura and Spock suggested are images of the volcano and the inhabitants who live around it. Sacred texts, from the deference the Nibiruans show.

With a nod toward the nearest wall hanging, Kirk starts forward, McCoy right behind him. No one seems to notice them.

_And that is a surprising problem._

No sooner has Kirk slipped the wall hanging from the protrusion holding it up, he rolls it up and waits to be discovered.

"That will be the tricky part," he had told McCoy during their planning session yesterday on the _Enterprise_. "Making sure they follow us far enough away from the temple so the shuttle can get into place."

"Oh, _that's_ the tricky part," McCoy had said, rolling his eyes. "Making sure they want to kill us for taking their sacred parchments."

"Something like that," Kirk said with more bravado than he felt.

Now he stands with the rolled parchment in his hand and watches the circled Nibiruans ignore him.

Kirk is certain that several of the people closest to him see him—have looked at him directly and turned back around.

Is it possible that the parchments mean nothing, or that touching or taking them is not a desecration at all but something familiar and expected?

_So, be unexpected._

"Hey!" Kirk shouts.

That works. Immediately several Nibiruans get to their feet and gesture broadly with their arms. Suddenly a heavy spear flies through the air and bangs into the wall behind him.

"Let's get out of here!" Kirk shouts, and McCoy doesn't need to be told twice.


	3. Prime Directive

**Chapter Three: Prime Directive**

**Disclaimer: This is my coloring book. The outline was already here, but I brought the crayons.**

"Watch out!" Kirk yells over his shoulder to McCoy. As he steps off the crude stone pathway leading out of the Nibiruan temple, the captain's foot sinks into the soft sand and catches on the hem of his long robe, spinning him partly around. In the distance he can see the natives pouring out of the opening of the temple.

"Thanks for the advice!" McCoy yells back—or something like that. His voice is muffled by the cloth covering his face.

The voices of the pursuing Nibiruans are _not_ muffled but loud and shrill—and _angry_.

Of course he can't know that for certain. They might be shouting encouragement, for all he knows. What had Spock said before the shuttle left them on the beach? _Captain, we have no way of knowing how the indigenous people will respond to your theft. You must be prepared for multiple possibilities._

"Thanks for the advice," Kirk mutters now, remembering the conversation. If the Nibiruans _aren't_ angry, they are doing a good imitation of it.

A whoosh beside his right ear and ahead of him in the sand a thick spearlike projectile lands with a thud. _If that isn't a weapon, Kirk doesn't know what is._

_They're angry._

Another spear quivers in the trunk of a tree as Kirk skitters over the last large sand dune and plunges into the cover of the red forest.

His relief is short lived. Long vines snake out of the trees and lie tangled and twisted on the forest floor, threatening to trip him. The trees grow in thick copses that force Kirk to take unplanned detours in his pell-mell dash through the underbrush.

And all the while the natives are gaining on them.

Suddenly in front of Kirk the trees part and a wall of pink and gray mottled flesh rises up, a maw of sharp teeth extended. His reflexes working overtime, Kirk whips out his phaser and fires. The wall of flesh and teeth falls back, shaking the ground.

Stumbling to a stop behind him, McCoy jerks the cloth from his face and says, "Dammit, man, that was our ride! You just stunned our ride!"

Kirk blinks and pulls his own face cloth down to see better. Oh. The hog monster.

"Great," he says, his voice genuinely rueful.

Another spear _thocks_ into a nearby tree and Kirk and McCoy take off running again. Risking a look backward, Kirk sees what appears to be the entire crowd of Nibiruans closing the distance.

McCoy darts a glance and looks equally surprised at the force following them.

"What did you take?" he screams, and Kirk yells out, "I don't know, but they want it back!"

At the top of a rise the trees thin out abruptly and Kirk scans the horizon. To the left is the tall rock formation he had picked out earlier as his visual marker. North of the rock, the volcano is partially obscured from the ground. Once he leads the natives there—out of the _kill zone_ —the shuttle can lower Spock with the particle emitter into the volcano.

"If we pursue this plan, the odds are high that the indigenous population will see the shuttle," Spock had objected at their planning session. "The Prime Directive expressly forbids revealing our technology to a pre-warp civilization such as this one—"

"I'm well aware of that," Kirk said, trying not to show his impatience—not that Spock would notice or care. "Instead of telling me why we can't do it, tell me how we can."

His statement was a gauntlet thrown down to the bridge crew sitting around the conference table. For a moment no one said anything.

Ever since the _Enterprise_ had been assigned this mission, Spock had raised the specter of violating the Prime Directive, throwing it up like a series of roadblocks to every suggestion.

The _Enterprise_ was too large, too unwieldy, too _visible_ for the low-altitude flight over the volcano necessary for getting the particle emitter in place. In fact, Spock said, like many pre-warp civilizations, the Nibiruans were probably star watchers and would notice the ship even in a geosynchronous orbit.

Underwater, then. They would park the ship in the Nibiruan ocean during the mission.

A shuttle would need to hover over the mouth of the volcano to lower someone inside—which, again, Spock said, would alert the indigenous people to their presence.

"We could hide a shuttle behind the ash cloud until we were ready," Sulu pointed out, but Spock had an answer to that, too.

"I estimate that I will require at least 123 seconds to descend to the bottom of the volcano and set the detonator. Ascent will require another 15 seconds for a total of 138 seconds during which the shuttle will be visible to the inhabitants on the ground."

"Thanks for the math lesson," McCoy groused across the table.

Kirk pursed his lips and looked around at his officers.

"Then we have to find a way to distract the inhabitants or get them out of the area while the shuttle goes in."

"The parchments," Uhura said suddenly. "You saw how they seemed to bow to them—they mean something to them. If you could take one—"

"Doing so would also put us at risk of violating the Prime Directive," Spock said. "Not only would you have to enter the temple to find one of the parchments, you would then have to insure that the inhabitants see you take one."

"We'll go in disguise," Kirk said, remembering the images of swathed inhabitants among the more scantily clad natives.

"You could be taking a critical artifact," Spock said, "thereby changing their normal development. Another violation of the Prime Directive."

"Okay, okay," Kirk said, this time not hiding his irritation, "so I'll take it long enough to lure them out and then I'll make sure they get it back. Somehow."

Despite Spock's skepticism, that was the plan Kirk had settled on—and which was now about to get him and McCoy killed.

If they hold on for a little longer—

He struggles up a sharp incline and looks to the left. Behind him the rock formation looms.

_Finally!_

"Kirk to shuttle one. We're out of the kill zone. Repeat. Get in there and neutralize the volcano and let's get out of here!"

X X

"Watch out!" Sulu shouts, and Nyota braces her feet apart and grabs Spock around his waist. The shuttle makes a stomach-sickening dip before righting itself.

"You okay?" she says, peering into Spock's face, but he doesn't reply. Instead, his expression is a mix of intense internal focus and external indifference—just the kind of response that garners him a reputation for being chilly or even arrogant. An unfair assessment, though Nyota understands why some people read him that way.

They are standing in the back of the shuttle near the exit chute, Spock holding to the overhead stabilizer while Nyota helps him into a red environmental suit.

The latches on the suit are hard enough to engage without the layer of heat protection Spock has added and impossible for the wearer to reach. Stooping behind Spock's left knee, Nyota leans forward and presses as hard as she can until the latch snaps in place. _One down, eleven to go_.

The shuttle bucks again and she feels herself falling backward. Before she can hit the deck, Spock darts his hand out and catches her forearm, pulling her back up.

The familiar electricity leaps like a spark between them.

"Thanks," she says, but he says nothing. Not that she expects him to, though she wouldn't mind if he did.

The second latch behind his right knee is easier to close and she moves up the suit, making sure the heat layer is in place as she goes.

"Hunh!"

A breathy exhalation in the comm in her ear. "Captain?" she says, alarmed. In the distance she hears McCoy shouting.

"Dammit, man, that was our ride! You just stunned our ride!"

 _Their ride?_ Earlier the captain had mentioned stumbling across one of the large land animals the indigenous people use for transportation. Could he be referring to that?

"Great," Kirk mutters, his words clearly not for her. The small earlinks they wear are fallback devices, not intended as replacements for handheld communicators. Nyota would rather not use them at all for just this reason—she always feels like an eavesdropper when she does.

"What did you take?" McCoy yells, and the captain says, "I have no idea, but they want it back!"

Obviously Kirk was successful in getting inside the temple and taking one of the ideographic parchments seen in the reconn vids. She redoubles her efforts to finish with the latches.

The trickiest part is activating the internal cooling system built into the suit. Even with the extra heat shielding, the suit would be unwearable in the volcano without a way to lower the temperature further. Otherwise Spock—heat lover and child of the desert notwithstanding—would get cooked inside in short order.

The lever controlling the fan is just inside the right shoulder pad. Slipping her fingers between the suit and Spock's singlet, Nyota presses the program button and waits a moment as it runs through a start up diagnostic.

"Kirk to shuttle one!"

This time Kirk's voice comes over the shuttle intercom as well as through her earlink. Some sort of ambient noise—the sirocco of wind or the buzz of voices—garbles the captain's next words but Nyota can make out some of what he says.

"We're out of the kill zone. Repeat. Get in there and neutralize the volcano and let's get out of here now!"

From the front of the shuttle Nyota hears Sulu say, "We have to do this now! The shuttle wasn't built for this sort of heat!"

Through the forward viewscreen she sees thick, black clouds like thunderheads. The shuttle rattles and shakes like something alive.

A flashing green light indicates that the start up diagnostics for the cooling fan is complete. Pulling the tab up so she can see the controls, Nyota sets the code and tucks it back into the shoulder pad of the environmental suit.

"Captain," Spock says, "did the indigenous life forms see you?"

His question doesn't surprise her.

It does, however, make her smile.

As if the captain hasn't heard Spock mention the Prime Directive enough times since they arrived at Nibiru.

"Humans aren't that forgetful," she had gently chastised Spock last night after the last strategy session. "The captain understands the importance of the Prime Directive. You don't need to keep reminding him."

But Spock had looked at her with the same raised eyebrow he had given the captain and she felt herself bristle—and not just on the captain's behalf.

The captain bristles now through the comm.

"No, Mr. Spock, they did not!"

"The Prime directive clearly states there can be no interference with the internal development of alien civilizations," Spock says as Nyota finishes tucking in the fan controls. Spock's body heat is already rising in the heavy suit. She brushes her fingers along the neck of his singlet and is alarmed at how flushed he is.

Again the electricity flares between them—but neither has time to acknowledge it.

"I know what it says," Kirk huffs, "which is why I'm running through the jungle, rather than letting them kill us! Now load up your super ice cube, and let's go. Do it now!"

The shuttle bucks once more and Nyota leans forward and says, "You're good." With a short nod, Spock kneels and flips open the box carrying the particle emitter.

"We've got to do it now. This ash is killing our coils!" Sulu calls from the shuttle controls.

Picking up the environmental suit's helmet from the storage bin, Nyota lurches awkwardly across the deck and waits as Spock finishes setting the pre-launch codes in the emitter. When he stands up she hands him his helmet and he slips it over his head, settling it into the groove on the suit and twisting it to seal it.

Reaching up and toggling the voder button at the back of the helmet, Nyota hears it click.

"You sure you don't want me to go instead?" she says, partly to test the audio and partly in response to the overwhelming tension. Spock, however, looks taken aback.

And surprisingly serious.

"That would be highly illogical," he says, his brows creased, "as I am already suited up—"

It's the kind of literal misunderstanding that characterized their early conversations until he had gotten to know her better, until he had become more adept at understanding her playfulness. That he misunderstands her now is a testament to the stress he must be feeling.

Her heart does a flip and she says, "Spock, I was kidding."

He gives a belated, "Um—" as she leans up and kisses the faceplate of his helmet. His eyes track her and she waits for him to tell her how illogical such an action is. That he doesn't is another indication of his stress.

"You got this," she says, more to reassure herself than him.

Dimly she's aware that the air filters must be failing—the acrid smell of smoke drifts through the shuttle.

"Guys!" Sulu says, his voice pitched above the unnatural whine of the shuttle engines. "We've got to go! Now!"

"I'll see you in 90 seconds."

Again she half expects Spock to correct her, to remind her that the time from activation to detonation of the device is 90 seconds, that he needs extra time to go in and out of the volcano.

But instead he watches her solemnly as she bounds away to the front of the shuttle. Pressing the safety catch to the exit chute, she closes him off behind a door of transparent aluminum. As she slides into the co-pilot's seat she trains her eyes on Spock.

"Do it! Do it!" Sulu shouts. Spock locks the cable to his suit and Nyota pulls the chute release. He disappears from view at once.

From the corner of her eye Nyota sees Sulu batting at the controls like someone fighting a swarm of bees. The viewscreen shows nothing but thick black clouds of ash.

A sudden alert signal buzzes on the console and Nyota notes their loss of altitude. The lateral controls seem to be flickering on and off, making the shuttle rock back and forth wildly. The smell of smoke grows even stronger.

Another signal goes off—this time a warning that the hull temperature is exceeding safe maximums. Nyota opens her mouth to tell Sulu but he says, "I can't hold our position. Pull him back up."

A mixture of relief and disappointment—and Nyota nods and reaches for the cable lever.

"Negative," Spock says over the comm. "This is our only chance to save this species. If the volcano erupts, this planet dies."

Nyota's hand freezes in the air, inches from the lever.

The noise level of the shuttle shifts suddenly—one of the engines overheating and closing down. Looking at the console, Nyota sees the telemetry from Spock's environmental suit. He's already past the safe temperature levels.

Still she hesitates, torn between duty and desire.

"Pull him back up! Now!" Sulu shouts, and her trance is broken. Releasing a pent up breath of air, Nyota pulls hard on the lever and listens as the winch begins pulling Spock up out of the volcano.

The black clouds outside the viewscreen are replaced by a flare of light—a geyser of lava arcing around the shuttle and setting off another round of alarms. Sulu's hands play over the controls and the shuttle backs off slowly.

And then a sudden jerk, the shuttle slung to the side so hard that Nyota has to grab the console to keep from being thrown out of her chair.

"Spock!" Nyota says, but even before she confirms it by looking at the console readouts, she knows what has happened. The cable holding Spock has broken, and he's gone.

**A/N: As always, thanks to everyone who reads and reviews. Every time you leave a review you are letting other potential readers know this is worth a look. That's the best gift you can give a fanfic writer! Thanks for letting me know what you think so far. And if you're looking for other Star Trek 2009 stories, check out my profile. They are listed roughly in order there (they are stand alone stories that all fit into a single story line in the reboot movieverse.)**


	4. Another Kobayashi Maru

**Chapter Four: Another** _**Kobayashi Maru** _

**Disclaimer: I'm just filling in the missing pieces of other people's ideas. No money made here. Drats.**

_She can't breathe._

_That's not quite true. She can. She's just forgotten to._

With a gasp, Nyota meets Sulu's eyes. He looks as shocked as she feels.

When the cable lowering Spock into the volcano snapped, the telemetry from his suit went dark. A broken sensor, or something more…dire? Nyota takes a breath and forces herself not to panic.

No one is sure exactly what is at the bottom of the volcano—though the geology team on the _Enterprise_ had sketched out a likely scenario of basalt islands surrounded by molten rock. _If_ Spock wasn't too far from the bottom when the cable broke, and _if_ he landed on solid rock and not in a pool of lava, and _if_ the environmental suit hasn't already failed—if, if, if. Too many to count. Unlike Spock, she doesn't automatically calculate the odds for things.

If she could quiet herself—if she weren't already so terrified—she might be able to reach across the echo of their telepathic connection and sense whether or not Spock is still alive.

But it's hopeless. Her heart beats so hard that she feels it in her throat. With a frantic flick of her wrist, she sets the audio scanner to its widest frequency. Almost at once she hears Spock's voice, tinny and distant.

" _I am—surprisingly—alive. Stand by."_

Tears spring to Nyota's eyes.

_He's okay!_

"We've got to get him back! I'll suit up and go down!"

But even as she says it one part of her brain knows that's not a viable option. The shuttle lists to the side, another engine going offline.

"We have to abandon the shuttle," Sulu says, unhooking his safety belt and getting out of his chair. The enormity of what he is saying takes a moment to make sense.

"We can't just leave him, Sulu!"

"We have no choice! Uhura, I'm sorry."

He's right, of course. They can't help Spock if they can't help themselves. Blinking back tears from the smoke and shock, she says, "Spock, we're going to try to go back to the _Enterprise._ We'll get you out."

Silence on the other end of the comm, though that in itself doesn't alarm her. Spock rarely feels the need to make rhetorical replies.

Outside, the gray and black clouds are gradually replaced by a view of the ocean—blue and vast, and hopefully a soft landing. Leaning over the console, Sulu adjusts the angle of descent and heads further out to sea.

Stripping her outer garment off and standing in her wet suit, Nyota watches as Sulu's fingers alternately fly over the controls and tug off his jacket.

"Captain," he says loudly into the comm transceiver, "I'm ditching the shuttle. You'll have to make it back to the _Enterprise_ on your own."

From where she stands over the exit chute, Nyota hears the captain say something in reply. _Wonderful?_ She can't quite make it out.

"Uhura, ready for a swim?" Sulu says, and she nods.

"I'm ready."

X X

"Jim!" McCoy's breath is ragged and breathy. "The beach is that way!"

Time for a moment of truth. Kirk takes a breath and hollers over his shoulder.

"We aren't going to the beach!"

The Nibiruans are so close that Kirk can hear them chattering and shouting. Another spear whizzes past his ear.

"No, no, no, no, no, no!" McCoy shouts.

One of the things Kirk appreciates most about Bones is his speed on the uptake, his ability to comprehend something with the barest of hints. Kirk senses his dawning comprehension of what _we aren't going to the beach_ means.

"I hate this!"

"I know you do!" Kirk calls back.

The terrain inclines slowly up through the dense trees. Dodging a small sinkhole, Kirk scans ahead for a place to leave the parchment. A rock, a tree—somewhere where the natives will see it—and hopefully stop chasing them.

To his right he spots a scraggly tree with fewer leaves than most. Stopping long enough to pinion one part of the scroll on a forked branch, Kirk makes sure the parchment unfurls where the Nibiruans will see it.

Over the pounding of his footsteps and the pounding of his heart in his ears, Kirk hears the sound he's been listening for—the crash of the sea.

Not the gentle wash of waves, but the percussive noise of waves hitting the rocks at the bottom of the cliff.

The cliff directly ahead. The cliff that drops off thirty meters from here to the sea.

Without looking back, Kirk darts the last few meters across the sand and leaps.

And falls, falls, into the cold water. A few seconds later, McCoy hits the water beside him.

"You okay?" the captain says, but McCoy is too busy stripping out of the long traveler's cloak to do anything more than give him an evil look.

_Just as well._

The wetsuits are equipped with propulsion and oxygen, and in less than two minutes both McCoy and Kirk are scissoring their way like dolphins, first across the waves, and then dipping under the water and following the homing signal to where the _Enterprise_ is hiding in the murk. In a few more minutes both Kirk and McCoy swim into the starboard airlock and wait for the water to drain.

"You have any idea how ridiculous it is to hide a starship on the bottom of the ocean?"

Scotty's greeting—sharp and indignant. Kirk whips off his swim mask and takes a step forward.

"We've been here since last night," Scotty continues, his tone aggrieved. "The salt water's going to ruin the—"

"Scotty!" Kirk interrupts. "Where's Spock?"

At once Scotty's expression softens.

"Still in the volcano, sir," he says, moving back and falling into step behind the captain.

"Captain on the bridge," Chekov says as the turbolift doors open. Still in his wetsuit, Sulu sits at his familiar place at the helm. Looking around, Kirk sees Uhura, also still in her wetsuit but with her commlink in her ear.

"Lieutenant," he says, "do we have an open channel to Mr. Spock?"

Kirk has known Lt. Uhura since their Academy days—has seen her in every mood imaginable—sick and well, happy and sad. He knows how she furrows her brow when she listens closely to a garbled communication, how she flashes her teeth when she laughs out loud. Too well he knows how her face looks when she is scornful or disgusted—he's embarrassed to have been the source of such looks in the past.

Her face when she teases someone—a lilt to her head, a gentle smile playing about her lips—he knows that, too, enjoying the moments when she pulls his leg or makes a joke at his expense.

And he's watched—not without a stab of jealousy—as she's bestowed such a look of understanding and forgiveness and acceptance on Spock when she thinks no one sees—such a look of ineffable longing and love that Kirk still can't get his head around it, not completely—

But the look on her face now takes his breath away.

_She thinks Spock is going to die._

Maybe that special mental connection they seem to share is telling her so—or maybe she's lost faith in Kirk's vaunted defiance of no-win scenarios.

Even from across the bridge Kirk can see that she's shaking.

"The heat's frying his comms, but we still have contact."

Her voice breaks slightly as she speaks and Kirk waits a beat before looking away.

"Spock!" he says, slamming his hand down on the comm button at the helm.

The roar of wind and fire fill the bridge as Spock replies.

"I have activated the device, Captain. When the countdown is complete, the reaction should render the volcano inert."

At Kirk's side, McCoy mutters, "It's going to render _him_ inert."

In one corner of the viewscreen, the schematics of Spock's environmental suit are updated in real time. Kirk doesn't need to look too closely to know that the suit is failing rapidly. Over the comm, he can hear Spock's labored breath.

Turning to Sulu, Kirk says, "Do we have use of the transporters?"

"Negative."

"Not with these magnetic fields," Chekov adds.

"I need to beam Spock back to the ship!"

Chekov lifts one hand and gestures.

"Maybe if we had a direct line of sight—"

_Direct line of sight? Place the Enterprise immediately over the mouth of the volcano?_

Before Chekov can continue, Scotty blusters.

"Man, you're talking about an active volcano! Sir, if that thing erupts, I cannae guarantee we can withstand the heat!"

"I don't know that we can maintain that kind of altitude," Sulu adds.

The comm crackles and Spock says, "Captain, our shuttle was concealed by the ash cloud. The _Enterprise_ is too large. If utilized in a rescue effort, it would be revealed to the indigenous species."

Without looking at her directly, Kirk feels Uhura react. McCoy blurts out, "Shut up, Spock! We're trying to save you, dammit!"

Without a pause Spock says, "Doctor, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

"Spock, nobody knows the rules better than you but there's got to be an exception!"

Kirk almost shouts in frustration. By contrast, Spock's voice is measured and even.

"None. Such action violates the Prime Directive."

"Spock! We're talking about your life!"

Another hiss of static almost drowns out Spock's next words.

"The rule cannot be broken—"

And then the comm goes dead. Kirk sees Uhura's hand flutter to her throat.

"Spock!" Kirk shouts. Turning to Uhura, he says, "Try to get him back online!"

The lieutenant leaps to her station and scrambles to find a signal. From his place at navigation, Chekov intones, "90 seconds to detonation."

Of all the qualities Jim Kirk prides himself on, his ability to react quickly is the one he's found most useful through the years—yet here he is, unable to do a thing, with no place to turn.

_A no-win scenario he can't beat._

"If Spock were here and I were there, what would he do?"

He says it to no one in particular, but it is Bones who answers him.

"He'd let you die."

X X X

When the cable snaps, Spock automatically calculates the odds of surviving the fall.

Or he starts to. The bottom of the volcano rushes up so quickly that he only has time to stumble his way onto a large rock outcropping, landing so hard that he tumbles over immediately and skitters on his back almost ten meters before coming to rest near the edge, the molten lava so close he feels the heat through his visor. Indeed, his breath is so rapid that for a moment Spock's helmet is fogged.

Gingerly he gets to his feet and says, "I am—surprisingly—alive. Stand by."

This complicates matters, of course. His means of escape are severely limited. Even if another cable can be lowered down to him, he won't have time to activate the particle emitter in time.

All around him large flares of lava spew into the air like geysers, the heat and light painful despite the protection of the environmental suit. The noise, too, is disconcerting, almost as if the volcano were alive.

_A fanciful notion. That he should resort to it now is surprising._

With a conscious effort Spock surveys the surrounding area for a suitable place to set up the particle emitter—or as the captain has dubbed it, the Ice Cube. Another fanciful notion, so very human.

A little frisson of regret makes him shiver despite the heat. Why hasn't he sufficiently appreciated the complexity of his mother's language until now?

As he always does when he thinks of his mother, Spock has to work hard not to see her as he last did—when she disappeared before him into the crumbling cataclysm of Vulcan. Focusing on the task at hand, he sets aside that image, narrowing his gaze instead on the rock surfaces around him, searching for one that isn't in danger of being swamped by the rising lava.

90 seconds. He has to find high enough ground to last 90 more seconds so the particle emitter can be set to detonate.

Carefully he steps out onto the rock, the _ice cube_ in his hand. If he can get to it, he sees a rock shelf that is partially sheltered from the lava spraying from the tectonic breach.

Coming to a place where the lava has cut a rivulet in the rock, he prepares to jump. The ground rumbles and shifts beneath his feet. A massive wave of lava leaps up and falls down nearby, forcing Spock to shield his vision.

And suddenly he knows. He is going to die here.

This isn't the first time Spock has faced death. Twice before he's believed that he was going to die, was convinced that his own actions would end his life.

The first time was when he was teaching at the Academy, before he had accepted a post as Captain Pike's first officer on the _Enterprise_. As an adjunct professor in both the language and computer science departments, he had overseen the development of a language acquisition program that attracted some international attention. At the academic conference to present it, he had confronted members of Earth United, a xenophobic terrorist organization.

The group had chosen a crowded ballroom as the site of a bomb attack—a ballroom where Spock and Captain Pike were in attendance. Although the terrorists were quickly disarmed, the bomb had been triggered and Spock carried it out of the ballroom and into a utility area down the hall, almost getting himself blown up in the process.

He hadn't questioned his actions then, just as he hadn't later when he aimed the Vulcan _Jellyfish_ at Nero's ship, knowing that the explosion would kill him—and trusting it would also stop the _Narada_.

He'd been sad both times—why not admit it? He knew what he was losing—a career, the opportunity to be useful and serve in Starfleet; a relationship with Nyota, and perhaps a future and family with her.

But even more, he'd been resolute, unwavering.

He's just as resolute now, just as sad.

Unlike those other times, he's also relieved.

Part if him welcomes death—even, as Nyota suspects, seeks it. A terrible admission, but true. The weight of his grief since the destruction of Vulcan, since his inability to save his mother, has been a constant, unremitting pain, almost physical in intensity.

And a deeper secret, one he has never shared with anyone—is the reverberation of guilt he feels that is not quite his own.

_Billions died because of me, because I failed_ , his counterpart from the other timeline told him once, and though Spock had said it was illogical to regret what could not be changed, they both felt that regret keenly.

He isn't that other Spock—and yet he is, too. Or he would have been, could have been. Fairly or not, logically or not, he feels as if _he_ has failed Vulcan.

_Billions died because of me,_ he sometimes finds himself thinking when his thoughts are unguarded.

Kneeling down, he opens the case of the particle emitter and removes the keypad. As he inputs the trigger code, he allows himself the pleasure of memory—a quiet meal in his parents' kitchen when he was a child, his pride of accomplishment when his _ka'athyra_ instructor told him he had surpassed her skill, his discovery of an equation for subspace transmissions that is now standard on spacegoing vessels, the legacy of the students he has taught and encouraged in his time at the Academy. The small part he has had in James Kirk's captaincy…the captain's grudging acceptance that logic has a place in decision making…

The particle emitter begins to whir and glow.

"Spock!"

The captain's voice over the commlink.

"I have activated the device, Captain. When the countdown is complete, the reaction should render the volcano inert."

Over the open comm link he hears the bridge crew discussing a possible rescue—Dr. McCoy predictably acerbic, Scott and Sulu correctly concerned about the safety of the _Enterprise_.

The captain, as always, trying to bargain his way out of difficulty.

"Captain, our shuttle was concealed by the ash cloud. The _Enterprise_ is too large. If utilized in a rescue effort, it would be revealed to the indigenous species."

"Shut up, Spock! We're trying to save you, dammit!" Dr. McCoy says.

Spock has never won an argument with the doctor using logic. However, he tries once more.

"Doctor, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

The captain appeals for an exception to the Prime Directive. Spock reminds him there isn't one.

"The rule cannot be broken—"

The hollow echo in his ear signals the breakdown of the comm and he stops speaking.

At last the moment is at hand, and now that it is, he allows himself another indulgence—a flash memory of all the times he shared with Nyota—every image of her compressed like a textured collage, their first sexual encounter superimposed by their last, the feel of his finger tracing a coil of her hair illuminated by the trill of her laughter; the way she finds the electricity between them ticklish and arousing, the way she leans up to kiss him at unexpected times and the way he leans into her like someone pulled by a magnet, like a shipboard explorer hugging the coastline of a brave new world.

The way he doesn't censor what he says to her—the freedom her acceptance implies, the responsibility it places on him to share with her despite his discomfort of doing do at times.

The heat is making him dizzy and he closes his eyes, the better to see. His arms lift of their own accord, steadying him, and he pictures Nyota as he likes to remember her best—one morning several years ago when he spotted her walking across the commons of Starfleet Academy, her cadet uniform glowing red in spite of the weak winter light, her gait airy and fleet, her face lighting up when she saw him.

Faintly he feels a vibration—not from the ground this time, and for one frantic moment he is alarmed that Jim Kirk might be trying some grand rescue attempt with the transporter. If he is—if he has taken the _Enterprise_ from the ocean in daylight, if he is flying so low that the transporters can pluck him from the volcano—then he's not only violating the Prime Directive, he's defying it.

As his first officer, Spock will call him up on charges—question his command decision—appear before a tribunal and testify that the captain has sacrificed a civilization to save an unwilling individual, risk isolating himself from the rest of the crew and straining their loyalty, perhaps pushing Nyota beyond the place where she can understand or forgive him if the captain loses the _Enterprise_ —

But the tingle is not the transporter after all but the environmental suit fan finally failing, and with a deep breath, Spock lifts his face and stretches out his arms, prepared to become part of the mindless matter of the universe, trying to feel the peace that has eluded him since he watched his world crumple and disappear into the void, trying to feel it before his own vision fades to black.

**A/N: Thus ends the first nine minutes! I have a strong suspicion about what happens next (hint…I don't think Spock is wrong about what the captain will attempt and how Spock will respond to it), but since a suspicion is all I have, I'll shut up now and let you talk. What do you think happens next? I'm curious to hear your thoughts! As always, I appreciate your reading and reviewing!**

**If you are interested, Spock almost getting himself blown up by xenophobic terrorists is in my fic "The Interview." It's part of the story cycle I've been playing with while waiting for the next movie!**


End file.
